I’m so tired.  I’m all by myself.

I just want understanding from someone else.

So I write bad poetry to make everything alright,

when I can’t sleep at night.

I have hate here, and I have rage

and I have finished another page.

I want to close my eyes but

my eyes won’t go shut.

Because I long for something good

To come and heal me if it could.

I know that, at least some days,

I’m relatively faultless in my ways,

that someone patient could love me

that I could make him happy

and he would need me like I need him.

2 thoughts on “Sleepless

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